Team Boss are operating under a strict yet unspoken rule to make sure Owen scores the last try of the game. We’re passing to him any chance we can, but Mathias is always there, lurking over him like a tequila hangover, disrupting any hope of his boyfriend’s happiness.
Another maul erupts, and I realise the only way we’ll score again is if Eggo, or Harry, or someone else makes the dash. I’m the number eleven. It should be me. But it feels wrong when this entire event was set up for Owen.
I position myself behind Mr B, and when the maul falls apart, I’m right there. Owen’s looking around for a gap, but there aren’t any. Team Wild Card is covering him too well, and Mathias is gaining on him with foaming-at-the-mouth levels of concentration and determination.
“Mr B!” I yell. Owen doesn’t check where I am before he throws the ball back to me. Just in time. A millisecond later, Mathias takes him to the ground.
I clutch the ball as though the world will implode if I drop it, and I run.
I run so hard I can’t feel my feet.
I run so hard it mutes the screaming of the crowd.
I run so hard my brain forgets everything else.
I don’t turn to see where Mathias is, or any of his teammates. Don’t think, don’t feel.
Only run.
The sprint happens both in slow motion and in only a few steps.
I’ve made it. Suddenly I hear thunder, only it’s not thunder, it’s the roar from the stands. I cross the try line, find Mr B, smile, and ground the ball behind the posts.
Harry’s the first person to wrap his arms around me, and all is right.
I scored a try in a rugby game with actual professional rugby players and ex-players, and Harry Ellis is squeezing me like his life depends on it. We’re sweaty, and muddy, and bleeding.
And everything is so fucking perfect.
Then Mr B pulls Harry away to hug me, and I have to pretend that a tiny part of me didn’t just die.
“Love you, Mr B,” I say, because the words were already on the edge of my tongue.
Owen ruffles my hair. There are tears in his eyes.
Harry makes the conversion easily, and in the end, we only lose by seven points.
18
Saturday 21st June 2025
Harry
Iwant to kiss him. Team Boss lost the game by seven points, but it doesn’t feel like we lost at all. Lando scored the last try of the game, and I converted it, and I want to kiss him.
Right here, right now, in front of everybody.
He’s just a friend. He’s just a friend.
He’s just a friend I want to kiss really, very badly.
The full-time whistle has gone, and I was the first in his arms to congratulate him, but now Owen is pulling me away so that he can hug Lando. And Mum is beside me wrapping me in an embrace, telling me how absolutely incredible I was, and how proud of me she is, and how she can’t wait to tell (brag to) my auntie (her sister) in Australia (who’s stayed up late to watch the live stream).
Usually I enjoy being fussed over, but right now I want to be back in Lando’s arms, with his lips on mine.
But we’re just friends. And it has to stay that way. We’d never be compatible in a relationship because we want opposite things.
“Harry, hi,” says a male voice from behind me. I whip around to find Lionel standing there.
